The Last Whisper of the Gods

by Berardinelli, James

  “What you told me yesterday is an incredible story. I lost sleep last night thinking about it. I look forward ta hearing the details. First, though, I think a reminder about honesty’s in order. Yesterday’s lessons may have been too mild ta leave the right kinda impression. My fault, really. But since I don’t want there ta be no room for misunderstanding, we’ll begin today’s instruction with a more memorable demonstration. This’ll hurt but I won’t damage anything permanently... yet.”

  For this session, Langashin produced two instruments: the knife he had previously used and a gripping tool with a set of nasty teeth that could clamp onto anything.

  For Sorial, the next hour was a blur of suffering. The long-term harm done by Langashin was minimal but the man displayed his mastery of maximizing agony. He began by ripping out all of Sorial’s toenails then employed both gripper and knife to extract one of his incisors. After leaving his mark on the soft flesh of Sorial's earlobes, Langashin cauterized the wounds using the side of the blade after heating it with the torch. Finally, he reached between his prisoner’s legs. Grasping his testicles with one hand, he began to squeeze. As the pressure increased, the pain became intense. Sorial vomited water and bile - since there was nothing else in his stomach - and was on the verge of blacking out when Langashin relented. “Next time, I ain’t gonna stop till you’re a gelding.” His tone implied he was looking forward to that moment. Sorial curled into a fetal position, moaning.

  Comecomecome beckoned the buzz in his mind, offering a bizarre solace in the midst of so much physical discomfort.

  “Everything I’ve done ta you so far has been inconsequential. You still got your fingers, toes, eyes, cock, most of your teeth, and the parts of your ears that matter. I’ve given you a few scars and hobbled you for a few days. Going forward, if I don’t like your answers, we’ll move ta more serious methods of enforcing honesty. Now, Sorial of Vantok, explain ta me why such important men as King Azarak and Prelate Ferguson would be interested in the portal of Havenham and why they sent the likes of you and your two dead friends ta find it.”

  Sorial’s mind wasn’t so befogged by pain that he missed the key phrase. Two dead friends. So Warburm and Brindig had escaped notice, at least thus far. Langashin didn’t know about them, unless the interrogator was laying a trap. That was always possible.

  “Vantok is under attack by a fire wizard,” began Sorial.

  Langashin nodded. “We’ve heard rumors of him. The Lord of Fire, he likes ta be called. Lives somewhere down here in The Forbidden Lands. Far to the east and south if my sources are right. If I was ta put on airs like his, I’d be The Lord of Pain.” He laughed as if he’d made a joke.

  “Ferguson wants a wizard of his own and, for that, he needs a portal.”

  “And all the portals in the civilized lands were destroyed. Yes, I remember my history lessons. So the prelate hopes the portal in Havenham might still be active. I dare say it is. People living in The Forbidden Lands ain’t so foolish as ta destroy relics of the gods. They nurture them and give them the reverence that’s their due. But why you, Sorial of Vantok? Why only three fools, ill-equipped ta make such a journey? Far as I’m concerned, a half-truth’s as bad as a lie.” He thumbed the knife’s blade.

  Sorial swallowed, tasting blood. “King Azarak believed a small group might do better’n a larger one. Whole armies sent into The Forbidden Lands have been lost...”

  “That’s sooth. I’ve seen a few of the boneyards.”

  “And it had to be unofficial. People don’t believe in magic no more and the king feared if it got out that he was looking for a portal, the ridicule might lead to his losing the throne. Our mission was simple: get to Havenham, avoid contact with tribes and settlers along the way, find the portal, and return with the information.”

  “Three men traveling all that distance just to have a look-see, one of who’s the target of the biggest bounty I’ve ever heard tell of? You’ll forgive me, Sorial of Vantok, if I ain’t convinced. Give me a reason not ta be skeptical.”

  Sorial fought down a sudden wave of dizziness. “Lamanar, the priest, was accused of heresy. Darrin of desertion. And me of horse theft. Three crimes punishable by death. The king said he’d pardon us if we did this thing for him.”

  “Three criminals on their own? You’d have fled the moment you were out of Vantok’s jurisdiction. Your story gets worse with every word.”

  “There was a reward as well - a handsome one.” Sorial worried at the socket of his missing tooth with his tongue. The salty tang of blood was strong in his mouth.

  “How handsome?”

  “Five gold each.”

  “Handsome, indeed. Let’s be open with each other. I believe a pinch of what you’ve told me, but you’re hiding things. Changing your story every time I find a hole. Shall I tell you what I think? Azarak and Ferguson sent you here ta find the portal and, once found, ta use it. Horse thief or not, you’re their chosen candidate. Why else would a warlord like Maraman be so desperate to get his hands on you? He wants you for his own.”

  “Ain’t got nothing to do with the portal. I’m his son.”

  One bushy eyebrow shot up. “Ahhh. Nothing ta do with the portal, indeed! So much makes sense now if this ain’t another lie. I remember some o’ his stories ’bout the women he lay with. Ferguson trying to make a wizard. Maraman trying to make a wizard. And you, their mutual choice, are my prisoner. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t remove any useful parts. But there’s still one thing for you ta answer. How do they know the portal will transform you rather than kill you?”

  Sorial gritted his teeth in frustration. The humming in the recesses of his head, the pain, the sensation of having lost his arm... everything was interfering with his ability to think, to plan, to reason. He was convinced that, had his mind been unencumbered by those things, he would have been able to weave a story to deflect Langashin’s interrogation. Instead, he had unwittingly led the man to the heart of the matter. At this point, further subterfuge seemed pointless. “They don’t know. They believe. They can risk me ’cause I ain’t important and, if I die, they don’t lose nothing. If I live, they got a wizard.”

  “As a thrall?” Langashin snorted in derision. “What does it take ta enslave a wizard, I wonder? You don’t seem in love with any of these men - the king, the prelate, your father. You don’t do this out of loyalty or amity. Maraman wants you delivered ta him. But Azarak and Ferguson sent you here with only two handlers, which means they believe you’ll be their wizard. Why is that? What have they offered? And none of this ‘five gold’ horseshit. That might be enough for a common thief but not for a wizard.”

  Sorial said nothing. He knew there would be a painful price for silence, but his tormentor was too close to learning about Alicia, the only truth Sorial intended to protect. He cursed himself for having already revealed too much.

  “Stubbornness at last! I wondered if there was a wolf somewhere under your sheep’s cloak. I applaud that you won’t make this too easy. And for your courage, I’ll let you make the choice: a finger or a toe? At least ta start with. We’ll whittle them away with each lie or denial. After all, you got fifteen of ’em. Throw in what’s between your legs, and that makes sixteen chances for you ta give up your secret before I get really creative! Gods, I love this trade!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: A SHARED BURDEN

  “Prelate Ferguson awaits your pleasure in your private audience chamber.” Toranim’s voice was a monotone and his expression blank, but Azarak could tell the chancellor was displeased with the high cleric’s presumption. It was one thing to request and audience, but the prelate had, of late, gotten into the habit of demanding them.

  “I’m going to have to do something about this,” grumbled the king, dressing quickly. The assumption was that a midnight audience was too important to be delayed but, with Ferguson, one never knew. Azarak glanced at Myselene, who had awakened at Toranim’s discreet knock and was now looking at him through half-lidded eyes with a quizzic
al expression. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep. Matters of state sometimes don’t wait until morning.”

  She made a few sleepy noises before pulling the covers over her head.

  “Did he say anything?” asked Azarak as they were on their way.

  “No, Your Majesty, but his expression is grave. I think this time it may be more than a power game.”

  “For his sake, I hope so. There was a time when I had to tread carefully with Ferguson, but his era has passed. If the gods have departed, as everyone now believes, the foundation of his power is gone. If he presses too hard, he’ll learn I can press back.”

  “Men like Ferguson don’t ascend to the highest pinnacle of the clergy without having a strong secular base. He has highly placed friends and allies all around the continent. If you feel he’s taking liberties, make your displeasure clear but don’t antagonize him. Besides, at his age, how much longer can he have?”

  “I remember my father saying something similar fifteen years ago. ‘Son, he’s a pompous ass, but he speaks for the gods and we must have a care where he’s concerned. At eight decades, it can’t be long before they call him home to be with them.’ Yet here he is, five years shy of the century mark, with every indication being that he’s going to outlive me just as he did my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. One wonders whether all that faithful servitude imparted some echo of immortality. I’ve never known a man to live near this long.”

  “Nor I, Your Majesty. And the few who came close lost their wits and acted like little children, needing to be wiped and cared for. Ferguson is sound of body and spry of mind.”

  Moments later, the king entered his private audience chamber, shutting the door firmly behind him. Ferguson was already seated. As always, he was impeccably dressed and groomed, but his expression was troubled. Toranim had been right. This wasn’t a social call or a game. Something was afoot.

  Ferguson didn’t procrastinate. Before Azarak was seated, he spoke. “The Lady Alicia has vanished. We’re almost certain she left of her own volition, although the means of her departure remains murky. It may be that she escaped through one of several secret routes, although how she might have learned of them isn’t understood.”

  For a long instant, Azarak could only gape stupidly. Absorbing such unexpected news at this hour of the night wasn’t easy even for a nimble mind. But there was no missing the implication. So many of their hopes and plans were connected with having a wizard champion of Vantok. If Sorial was to be that man, Alicia was the key. To lose that key at such a critical juncture...

  “Could she have planned this with Sorial before his departure?”

  “No.” Ferguson shook his head emphatically. “She’s been monitored. While he was in Vantok, her actions were scrutinized and her words transcribed. I personally reviewed the daily reports. Sorial and Alicia met only once during her time in the temple, and nothing was hinted at about an escape or a clandestine rendezvous. Only when he was safely embarked upon his journey was she permitted a degree of freedom - too much, apparently. But I’m convinced Sorial wasn’t involved in any conspiracy to spirit her away.”

  “You understand my concern?”

  “I do, Your Majesty. It’s reasonable. But even if Sorial had planned something, he’s being watched by four men who have strict orders to bind him if he attempts escape. Sorial is an imposing man, but not the match of four seasoned veterans.”

  “Tell me what happened with Alicia.”

  “Her absence was first noticed this morning when a priest brought a meal tray to her room and found it unoccupied. This didn’t create concern; she often rises early and goes for walks in the courtyard. Confinement for any length of time, even in a chamber as pleasantly adorned as hers, is anathema to her. However, when she didn’t appear for her noon meal and couldn’t be found after a cursory search of the common areas and grounds where she’s allowed to venture, the matter was brought to my attention. I ordered a complete sweep of the temple - room by room and inch by inch - and questioned the guards who were on duty last night. No one saw or heard anything unusual. She was known to be in her room an hour before midnight and hasn’t been seen since.”

  “You knew about this nearly twelve hours ago and are just now bringing it to my attention? Didn’t it occur to you that, even though the Lady Alicia was in residence at the temple, her custody is a secular matter under my jurisdiction?”

  “We completed the search of the temple grounds one hour ago. Once we were able to confirm she wasn’t on the premises, I elected to bring the matter to your attention personally.”

  Azarak was galled by Ferguson’s choice of the word “elected,” but let it go. This was typical of how the man operated; he was only here because he could no longer justify keeping the situation secret. But having an argument with the prelate about jurisdiction and mutual cooperation would be counterproductive at this time. Considering how critical Alicia was in guaranteeing Sorial’s allegiance, securing her safe return was the immediate concern.

  “You said she was being watched? How did she slip past her watchers.”

  “We relaxed our vigilance once Sorial left. During the day, there are eyes on her at all times but, once she’s retired, we only perform occasional walk-bys outside her room, not wishing to intrude on her sleep. There was no way to suspect she had knowledge of an escape route, the locations of which are known only to a select few. We were always more concerned about someone stealing in to do her harm than her slipping out.”

  “You’re certain she left of her own accord?”

  “Reasonably so. There’s nothing to indicate she was abducted or went under duress. We believe she had at least two accomplices, neither of whom we’ve been able to locate for questioning.”

  “Who?”

  “Vagrum, the mercenary who served as her protector for most of her life, and Rexall, a disreputable rogue who’s Sorial’s friend and has been an occasional visitor. It’s safe to assume this was an orchestrated escape, but one not plotted until after Sorial’s departure. There’s one other person of note we haven’t been able to contact today and, although there’s nothing concrete to connect her to this, I’m not a great believer in coincidence. Sorial’s mother, Kara, wasn’t at her farmhouse, a place she rarely leaves. And Duke Carannan reported four horses stolen, which lends credence to a supposition of her joining them.”

  “You think their plot is to catch Sorial on the road? If they’re mounted and he’s on foot...”

  “I doubt it.” Ferguson’s calm was maddening. “They’d be fools to think they had a chance of finding Sorial in the wide-open countryside. Warburm won’t use roads. Kara and Vagrum would know this. It’s more likely they intend to outpace him in a race to the portal and await him there.”

  “And that doesn’t concern you?” demanded Azarak.

  “Not especially. We need to retrieve the Lady Alicia so when her betrothed returns he isn’t confronted by an empty nest. That would be... unfortunate. But we needn’t be concerned about her turning him from his goal. If Kara is indeed their guide, they’re going in the wrong direction. The portal she knows about is in the far north. Sorial and Warburm are in The Forbidden Lands.”

  “Did you plan for this contingency?”

  “Truthfully, no. I didn’t send Sorial south to confound pursuit because I never expected there to be any. Kara’s loyalty is beyond reproach, or so I thought. She’s been my vassal for forty years. But I don’t trust that portal. The way it incinerated Sorial’s older brother has mystified me for decades. I wouldn’t risk our last, best hope at an unreliable site.”

  “How far north?” Azarak felt scant comfort knowing that Sorial and Alicia were likely traveling in opposite directions. There were dangers aplenty in the North, where well-armed bands of thieves were becoming bolder and more numerous. Several protected merchant caravans had been set upon less than a hundred miles north of Vantok, their mercenary guards slaughtered, their women raped or taken captive, and their goods plundered.r />
  “It lies beyond The Broken Crags, in the ruins of Ibitsal, one of the ancient northern cities, about two miles off of the Obis-Syre trade road. On horseback, it could take up to five weeks to make the journey, depending on how hard they press the animals and what weather conditions they encounter.”

  “Then we need to catch them while they’re still in the South. I can’t justify sending troops into other jurisdictions, especially not the one ruled by my future father-in-law.” That would be an unmitigated disaster. Not only would it kill his marriage to Myselene, but it would risk war with the most belligerent of cities.

  “I would suggest reining in your militia. There’s nothing to be gained by sending them in force. By all means have them search the city in the unlikely event that Alicia has gone to ground here, but let the priesthood locate, track, and eventually apprehend her. We aren’t bound by local laws. We can move freely from territory to territory without being questioned. My fellow prelates across the continent will support me in this.”

  Reluctantly, Azarak conceded the wisdom of this approach. It would have been different if they had known the location of the fugitives, but his soldiers weren’t experts at search and discovery. In their clumsiness, they might alert Alicia and her companions to their presence and scare them off. Priests could move incognito, blending in with the general populace. Soldiers couldn’t; even in “normal” dress, their bearing and demeanor frequently gave them away. Still, the king couldn’t allow Ferguson to assume command of the operation. And he had other, less obvious, resources he could call upon. The prelate wasn’t the only one in Vantok with an extensive spy network that spread beyond the city borders.

  “This remains a secular mission, Your Eminence.”

  “Understood, Your Majesty. With me as your go-between, you shall have ultimate control and final say in all decisions. I place the priesthood at your disposal. There’s also a matter of pride at stake. The Lady Alicia was in our custody when she escaped. Rely on us to return her to her rightful place.”